


ellipsis

by oobiemcruby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/pseuds/oobiemcruby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave thinks lowly of his mum, and worries over his idiotic father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ellipsis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cahoots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cahoots/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Comfy Ass Bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/569998) by [Cahoots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cahoots/pseuds/Cahoots). 



Seeing mum shuffle off into the darkened street filled you with apprehension. Why was she going? Was she leaving you and Dirk with your dim-witted father to fend for yourselves? That'd be right, lulling you into a false sense of security before _bam!_ taking her hushed reassurances and clasped clammy hands away, never to be seen again.

It stung, her leaving, gnawed at where you supposed your heart should be, filling you up with a sense of dread. How was your father going to react? Would he take his anger out on you? Your brother? You couldn't have that. The mere thought sickened you to the core. 

Strife practise never helped, made you more jittery in fact, no matter how much Dirk pushed you _harder better you’re better than that dickhead Dave, no need to take his shit anymore._

You sigh. Perhaps it would be better to worry in the morning, allow the pieces of your mum's leaving to fall where they may. You swivel around in your desk chair and make a half-hearted dive for the pillow pile that is your bed. You end up somehow knocking your nose on the bed end, impaling your eye on a stray smuppet. Oh god why does that stupid thing have to be there. _Good going Dave_ , you chide yourself, _real smooth_. You roll until you're facing the roof, head flooding with images of angry fathers and crying mothers. It takes a while for you to fall asleep, simply because your brain just won't shut off.

 

When you do wake up from your fitful sleep, it's due to the hushed cries of your mum and father from across the hall in the living room; his gruff sentiments of sheer anger have reduced your mum to tears. You grapple with the end of the bed for purchase, hauling yourself up and out, creeping to your bedroom door, sliding on the floorboards out into the corridor.

Rubbing at your eyes, you make your way to the living room entrance, stopping just short. You start focussing on the words being said in the harsh light of a new day - which is a struggle due to the festering stench of an alcoholic just finished his most recent bottle. _So you tryin’ for a new job, hmm? Leaving the kids_ – as if you and your twin are kids any more, you're sixteen for god sakes – _to bring themselves up_ – ha, as if he can talk, fat oaf that he is never did a thing for either of you – _you're an idiot, do you know that? a real-real idiot._

Sounds like you got the tail end of the argument, one-sided stuttering mostly, on your father's part. Why can't your mum stand any conflict? _She’s trying to get out of here_. You know she has a backbone, she must, somewhere. _She’s trying_. Surely she can't just stand there out of a twisted sense of loyalty? To him? You two? You silence that thought as quick as it came, waving it to the back of your mind.

You hear shuffling, an exploitative from someone stubbing a toe, a collapse of a body hitting the couch, unconscious. You sneak in, to check on your mum, a trickle of surprise in the back of your mind at her attempts to actually make something out of this situation. She’s actually trying. More than you’ve ever noticed her do before.

The dejected slump of her body in the table chair is kind of beautiful, your perception coloured by the pride you now feel looking at her, really looking, because she’s fighting, dammit, against his tyranny. You step over to the kitchen table, half-heartedly checking over your shoulder that father is still unconscious. Slipping into the chair beside hers, you make a quick grab for her hand, her watery eyes furtively looking up to your face. There are no strangers here.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh i wrote this for milz. coz i like her striders. twin striders ftw!


End file.
